9
A MASTERSTROKE OF MANIPULATION
IVY
H enry sits next to me and I move away. He growls and I ignore the twat, sulking on the armchair. He can’t join me here and I want to be alone—or rather, I don’t want him near me.
I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been here but it’s close to a week. I’m bored and running out of ways to amuse myself. I’ve daydreamed myself into several nightmares and I’m fed up with taking baths. I’m fraying at the edges, and Henry can sense it.
“Ivy, this is unnecessary.”
Yes, it damn well is.
I don’t have to be locked in the fucking room, but he’d have to treat me like a person. An actual person. Instead of the fucking pet he wants me to become.
“I don’t like seeing you unhappy, pet,” he sighs and I stiffen. “All I want is to care for you. Stop being difficult and accept your Master.”
Hell can freeze over first.
“Ivy, what’s wrong with letting me provide for you?” He almost sounds reasonable. I’m losing my goddamn mind. “I’m not cruel. I’m not hard. I want you to be happy. Let me take care of you.”
He walks across the room and squats in front of me. I crawl away and he shakes his head.
“You’ll leave me with no choice if you don’t behave. I don’t want to make things harder, but I will, pet.” His hand strokes my thigh and I despise the way it feels nice. Soft. Caring and considerate. “Be a good girl and behave.”
It’s the final goddamn straw. He’s too calm, too kind. It sounds too easy and simple, and every inch of me rebels against the idea. I lose all reason and launch myself at him, screaming and punching and clawing.
I’ve lost my mind, and I don’t care.
He’s much bigger than me, but he’s pushed me to breaking point and this is the consequence. My attack catches him by surprise and we tumble backward, crashing onto the floor. I land on top of him and the only thing I can think of is that I’ve got to keep going, certain this is my one chance to get free.
I’m hitting him as hard and fast as I can, oblivious to where my punches land as he yells at me to stop. He grabs a wrist and I scream as he yanks it hard, sending pain shooting up my arm. I scratch across his face and he roars, furious I’ve drawn blood and attacked him.
“I fucking said stop.”
“I fucking said no.”
Henry grabs my other wrist, and I writhe against him, trying to pull away from him. He’s too strong and he pulls me underneath him, pinning me to the floor. I kick and thrash and he waits, letting me tire myself out.
“I said stop, pet.”
“FUCK. OFF.”
“Not a fucking chance, Ivy. You’re behaving badly. Very badly. I should punish you for this. Severely.”
His eyes burn with anger, and their blue is dazzling. They should be pretty, they should soothe my soul. Instead, they’ve become the thing I dread and their gaze makes me uncomfortable—but I’m still drawn to them. I still can’t stop looking at them, and I hate the way they hypnotize me.
I still and he waits, expecting me to fight again.
Seconds pass and his grip loosens slightly.
“There’s a good girl.”
I spit in his face and it twists into a snarl.
“I fucking hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. And I hate everything you’ve done to me and I will never forgive you, Henry. Never. No fucking way.”
He draws a single, deep breath and it’s enough to scare the shit out of me. He’s livid in a way that’s quiet, measured, and terrifying. Henry is furious, but he’s not reacting, not lashing out. He’s got himself completely under control and I’m the one who’s spiraling wildly.
“Language, pet. Watch your fucking language.”
Fuck.
He’s hurt but he isn’t hurting me. He’s holding me and the middle, maintaining the status quo. Henry won’t let me go, but he isn’t pulling me closer, letting my emotions hurtle around the center of this storm.
“I want to go home. ”
“This is your home. We’re married. Accept it.”
“I don’t want this.”
“You don’t know what you want, pet.”
I damn well do, and I scream and thrash again, while Henry holds me firmly, ignoring my protests. I’m surprised how long I keep them up for and eventually my screams turn into sobs, leaving me crying underneath him.
“Pet…”
“DON’T. FUCKING. CALL. ME. PET.”
“Then give me an alternative. I asked before and you wouldn’t engage.”
I rail again and Henry holds me down, arching his eyebrow.
“Ivy, we will stay like this until you stop fighting me. Until I’m convinced you’ve stopped fighting me.” He watches my bottom lip tremble. “I have endless patience. You won’t win this one. Give in. Let me have control.”
My tears run faster and burn my skin, and my cries become frantic. This isn’t pretty, this isn’t soft. This feels forced. This feels pressured. I’m being bent into a shape I don’t want to and I don’t know how to stop it.
“I don’t want this, Henry.”
“You do,” he replies. “You’ll understand soon.”
His grip tightens again as he anticipates another reaction and the sharp sting of pain shoots up my arm. He’s right—he won’t give in and this isn’t a fight I can win. I need to cut my losses, be smart and save my energy for a fight when I stand a chance.
I turn my head away and sob bitterly.
“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “That’s better. You’re doing so well for me. ”
I hate him and I hate his words.
I hate the way they roll off his tongue and make my clit throb.
I hate the disgusting things he says and the way they send my arousal soaring.
I hate his praise because I want more of it and it’s reducing me to a pathetic little girl who’d do anything for a few words more.
His weight sinks onto me as he releases a wrist. I freeze for a moment before Henry’s hand moves towards my face and I flinch, expecting retaliation.
He stops and his fingers run down my cheek. It's gentle. It's kind. It's nice. It's even nicer when he strokes my hair and wipes away my tears as he stares at me like he’s going to kill someone.
“I will never hit you in anger. I don't retaliate out of spite. Tell me who hurt you, Ivy.”
My lip quivers again and I shake my head.
“When you're ready,” he says, stroking my face and helping me calm. “It doesn't change anything between us. It doesn't alter my affection. But when I find out who hurt my wife, they're going to wish they hadn't.”
He doesn't move, except to keep stroking me, and I exhale loudly, finally releasing my tension.
“I'm going to kiss you, Ivy. On the cheek. Don't fight me. You need this.”
I've given up. For now. His lips brush my skin and I pretend it isn’t easing my anxiety. I try not to notice the softness of his lips. I ignore the little electric currents he sends shooting down my spine.
Henry plants featherlight kisses over my face and whispers everything's okay. He takes his time and he's so different from how he was moments ago. It's a shift in his mood designed to tempt me with the easy and kind person he can be.
We could have this if I accepted his rules. It’s the soft he can be when he isn't forced to be hard. He’s offering pleasure when all he's given me is pain. He’s dangling a worm to get me on the hook.
It's psychological manipulation and I won't be fooled.
I sigh and Henry hums. He lets me breathe and I let him hold me. It's not right, but it isn't wrong. We've found a balance and I'm not sure I'm happy about it.
We stay like this and I don’t know what to make of it. It's new and I'm unsure. It isn't complicated and it isn't straightforward. I'm not opposed to this, but I think I should be.
“There’s something I need to take care of, urgently and I’ve already delayed it. I’ll be back shortly,” Henry says, breaking the silence. “Do you want anything, Ivy?”
I shake my head and he frowns. “Space.”
Henry isn’t thrilled that the first thing I ask for—that I genuinely want—is to be left alone, but he seems relieved I’ve asked for something. For anything. He’s noticed the shift, even if it hasn’t given him what he wants. It’s a step he wanted and it makes me unhappy.
“Would you like me to send some tea?”
I shake my head and back away.
“Just space,” he says, turning and heading out the door. “I'm pleased, Ivy. Really pleased.”
The door closes and the lock clicks. The atmosphere’s changed and I don't like it. The room is empty now he's gone and I hate him for it. I'm spinning and I don't understand why. Our fight brought us closer together and it’s another thing I didn't agree to.
I'm losing my goddamn mind. Henry's still an asshole and objectively nothing has changed. But something has shifted and I can't figure out what.
I pace the room, struggling to brush off what happened.
Or my reaction to Henry. I don't like him, but he does something to me. It makes me feel alive. It’s despicable and my body responds to it.
It’s unsettling.
It’s different.
It’s exciting.
I've never been this attracted to anyone before. One look is enough to set me on fire and when he touches me, I burn. I hate him, except I don't. I don't like him but I’m attracted to him.
It’s a fucking mess.
The sane bit of my brain screams he wants me like this—isolated, confused, adrift, and desperate for salvation—and he’ll step into the ambiguity and bend me to his will. I’ll be dependent on him and then he can move the needle as often as he likes. As often as he wants.
It’s brilliant.
A masterstroke of manipulation.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. It’s a gentle tapping I haven’t heard before. It isn’t Henry. It isn’t Ryan. My eyes bore into the wooden panels, expecting the door to open, but it doesn’t.
And then the lock turns and the mechanism clicks open.
Someone should walk in with tea.
But the goddamn door remains closed. The lock’s open but no one enters. It’s a puzzle and I need to solve it. Quickly .
This could be some sort of cruel test devised by Henry to torment me.
Or this could be my chance. Someone unlocked the door and it’s possible at least one person here may be on my side.
I’ve got no way of knowing which of the two things it is, and guessing wrong could cost me. But doing nothing isn’t an option and I’ve spent too long trapped in this room. This is the first chance I’ve had to escape in a week and I’d be a fool not to take it.
My hand shakes as I turn the handle, and the door swings open. The corridor is empty and my heart races as I creep through it, edging down the staircase and trying to remember my way out.
The place is deserted and adrenaline pours through me as I walk, pretending everything is normal. The front door is close enough to be in reach but far enough away that the seconds it takes to reach it turn painful.
I turn its handle and sunlight streams into the entrance hall. It’s a ray of hope and I step outside, unsure where the hell I am.
Yet again, I’ve got no fucking plan.
I don’t even know where here is and I’ve got nothing to help me.
But I’ve got a chance and I’ve got to take it—and I run as if my life depends on it.
It does.